Finding my north star, figuring out what color my parachute is, discovering my Italy, following my bliss, being the best me I can be…..and enjoying the journey

The Mousetrap

There is a mousetrap under my sink. It has a little dab of peanut butter on the end. Last night my dad showed me how to set it, pulling back the copper square and setting the lever to spring into action. I put my finger on the other end, asking if that’s where I should place the peanut butter. The trap didn’t snap against my finger but I felt like it should, to teach me a lesson. I knew better than to put my finger there, didn’t I?

But I really didn’t. I’ve never set a mousetrap before. I’ve always left that to someone else….someone less squeamish, someone more brave, someone more, well, male. And so now that I’m living by myself for the first time ever, there is no other choice. I must be the brave one.

My mom urged me to call my landlord. No, I can do it, I told her. My best friend offered up her boyfriend to come over. No, I can do it, I told her. And I can. I don’t want to. But I can.

These are the lessons that are slowly offering themselves up to me, giving me a chance to prove that I can take care of things on my own.

I’m an only child and I went well into my college years before I had a boyfriend. So I’m a bit fiercely independent. Call it stubborn, I will call it fiercely independent. I learned how to change a tire and check my tire pressure. I had a small toolkit in my house. So I know that I used to tackle these tasks with a sense of pride, knowing that I could go the rest of my life without having someone else fix things for me.

But then, at some point along the way, I started letting someone else do the heavy lifting. And I loved it. I loved being taken care of and not having to do the things that were a little less desirable. And you know what they say, if you don’t use it, you lose it.

So now there’s this mouse under my sink. And I love mice. I think that they are cute and furry and I would never do harm to another living being. But he’s gotta go. And so I set a trap.

This morning I opened the door under the sink cautiously. I was torn. Part of me wanted to find the trap empty, so that nothing further would have to be done. And part of me wanted the chance to prove myself. I wanted to see that my trap had worked and I wanted to pick up that dead mouse without crying and dispose of it properly.

The trap was empty and I closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that the test would come at a later time and hopefully I would be prepared.